


I Want to Break Free...

by Mirach



Series: My Good Omens stories [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Angst (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24776950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirach/pseuds/Mirach
Summary: There is something wrong with Aziraphale today and Crowley needs to figure out what and/or coax the angel to tell him. Cutting the ties that held you for 6000 years can hurt. A lot.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: My Good Omens stories [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517162
Comments: 123
Kudos: 382
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale, Tip Top Stories, comfort fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BuggreAlleThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuggreAlleThis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Like the Wolf on the Fold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163458) by [BuggreAlleThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuggreAlleThis/pseuds/BuggreAlleThis). 



> This story was inspired by the [list of soft moments](https://aziraphalelookedwretched.tumblr.com/post/614867753279619072/what-are-your-favorite-kinds-of-soft-moments-in) by @aziraphalelookedwretched on tumblr. I read it and thought "that sounds like a challenge to put them all into one fic". One would expect that doing that would produce a short, sweet fic, right? Wrong. Or maybe it would work with someone who's not me because I need the hurt to enjoy the comfort. But at least this fic is focused on the comfort, with the hurt being mostly in the past. It also uses a few other headcanons and inspirations from BuggreAlleThis's stories. 
> 
> Thanks to @kaiannanthi for being my beta again! <3

Crowley was four minutes and twenty-six seconds late. He checked his watch twice to make sure before he knocked on the door of the Antiquarian and unusual books shop owned by a certain A. Z. Fell and Co. But there was no “Co”. Mr. A. Z. Fell was an angel named Aziraphale and Crowley was a demon who did not want to arrive at the exact time they agreed on a date. 

A date. It wasn't actually any different from the countless evenings they shared with an increasing frequency during the history, before the Apocalypse that didn't happen. But names are important. A name can make a Hellhound into a cute mongrel. Call it a date and you get one nervous demon worrying about overstepping a line, going too fast but also too slowly, appearing too desperate but also too disinterested. It was a fine line.

Arriving exactly at six would be so uncool. Needy, even. It would show that he has been counting every second until the meeting. Which he has. He decided four minutes and twenty-six seconds would be just the right amount of time to not make Aziraphale wait too long, yet let Crowley keep his cool. 

He could hear steps from the shop, but they weren't getting closer to the door. He restrained himself from knocking a second time. Surely Aziraphale has heard him. Surely he has been expecting him… wasn't he?

He almost knocked a second time. 

"I'll be there in a jiffy!" sounded from the bookshop just then. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. It seemed the angel was letting him wait just to not appear too needy himself. But now Crowley was the one who was unfashionably early and he sighed in annoyance, making sure it could be heard inside the shop.

The door opened while Crowley's sigh was lingering on the doorstep. It slipped inside the widening crack as soon as it appeared, the treacherous thing. 

Crowley played it cooler, leaning nonchalantly on one foot. 

"Oh, hello Crowley!" Aziraphale smiled and Crowley almost forgot to appear cool and smiled too. It was a genuinely delighted smile that Aziraphale gave him, with the warmth of freshly baked bread and lazy basking in the sun, not angelic-grade kindness but Aziraphale-grade kindness that nearly swiped him off his precariously balanced feet and momentarily blinded him to everything else.

He blinked. "Erghm. Yeah. Hi, angel. Sorry I'm late… ahem… early… hnbffff. Let's go for dinner, shall we?" And panicking, he offered his arm to Aziraphale. 

The angel _took_ it, even for the few steps to where the Bentley was parked. The touch was firm and a little stronger than necessary as if Aziraphale was afraid that Crowley would change his mind and let go. And when he was indeed forced to let go so that he could open the Bentley's door for Aziraphale, it lingered just a moment longer and then was replaced by another radiant smile. 

"Thank you, dear boy," Aziraphale said and Crowley was yet to come up with his first coherent sentence of the evening. 

"Uh, right, so… Duck & Waffle, yeah?" he managed to say as he took the driver's seat. 

A hint of confusion flickered on Aziraphale's face for a split second, as if he forgot the restaurant they agreed to try today. If Crowley hadn’t paid attention to the movement of every little muscle in Aziraphale's face, he would have missed it. 

"That's right, I believe," the angel said immediately after. "Yes, Duck & Waffle. A delightful name, isn't it? I hope they have a free table tonight."

"Sure they do," Crowley rolled his eyes and made it so, even though he picked the restaurant (it indeed had an intriguing name), so it was Aziraphale's turn to ensure a free table. 

He watched the angel more than the road while driving to the Heron Tower, the radio playing _I Want to Break Free_. Aziraphale looked happy, or as happy as he could while the Bentley was flying in Central London at 80 miles per hour. He even hummed the melody under his breath. Crowley could tell by the way Aziraphale was wriggling his hands - not caressing his fingers with his thumb for comfort, but making a little movement as if shaking his own hand - that the angel was genuinely pleased about something. But there was something else under that happiness that didn’t allow Crowley to relax fully. The little side glances that Aziraphale was sending in his direction when he thought that Crowley wasn't looking. There was relief in them - the kind of relief that comes after fear. What had Aziraphale been afraid of?

Before Crowley could figure out the answer, they arrived at the tower where the restaurant was. 

Aziraphale started tugging on his bowtie in the elevator. Not much at first. Just a finger touching the fabric around floor 10. By floor 25, the other finger. At 33, straightening and adjusting it. At 39, adjusting it again. 

Something was off. Not acutely wrong, but there was a hint of discomfort under the cheerfulness. _Was it something I did or said?_ Crowley wondered. But there was still a little smile on the angel's lips, and it was not one of those tight-lipped fake ones. The mixed signals were confusing Crowley.

And then Aziraphale saw the view of the business district from the 40th-floor restaurant and his smile went tight while his hands adjusted the lapels of his coat. 

"Maybe a bit too pretentious, eh?" Crowley asked, the metaphorical wheels in his mind turning like crazy as he was trying to figure out what's wrong. "We could go somewhere else, what do you think? I’m not sure I’m in a mood for this kind of establishment today.”

Aziraphale appeared tempted at the offered lifeline at first, but then he lifted his chin, his eyes getting that stubborn shade of blue-grey. “Perhaps we could give them a chance. It's a nice evening to celebrate. Let’s just order wine and something small and see how we feel then, what do you think, my dear?”

"Sure, angel. If you want to." What else was he supposed to say?

And so they got seated at the miraculously free table. Crowley watched Aziraphale for a while, but the angel looked fine now. He studied the menu with an interested expression. 

Crowley turned to his own menu. He first checked the alcohol section and then evaluated the meals one by one, allowing himself the luxury of imaging Aziraphale eating each of them. The hog washed Jersey rock oysters looked particularly good. And maybe nut roast wellington with pistachios and sprout tops. Or the signature duck and waffle. Mhm, torrejas with maple caramel apples, and cinnamon ice cream… perhaps he could be tempted to that as well. 

But when the waitress came...

“A bottle of Journey’s End Shiraz. And… uh… rice pudding.”

"And for you, sir?"

"Eghm. Just the wine."

The waitress gave them a weird look but left with the order.

They sat in silence for a while. Aziraphale seemed lost in thought while watching the view from the window. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed suddenly, his face brightening. "I almost forgot, I got you something."

"Yeah?" Crowley asked cautiously.

Aziraphale took something small and fluffy from his pocket. 

Crowley stared at it, trying to hide the twitching in the corners of his mouth behind a sneer. 

"Angel… pray tell me, what made you think I'd like having a duckling plushie on a keychain?"

"It just made me think of you,” Aziraphale said innocently.

Crowley groaned with a long-suffering expression.

"But if you don't want it…"

That bastard.

"No no no, it's mine." He reached for the toy and stashed it in the pocket of his jacket before anyone could see. It felt strange. Blessed, maybe. Holding it felt like touching Aziraphale's hair. He wondered if it would be too obvious if he put his hand into his pocket. But then he realized…

That bastard.

It was a distraction. There was something wrong and Aziraphale was trying to cover it with silly presents.

When nobody was looking, he reached across the table and touched Aziraphale's hand with his fingertips. Aziraphale looked at him and _didn't_ withdraw his hand. 

Crowley pushed his sunglasses down just for a moment, revealing the concern in his eyes.

He could practically read the little “oh” in Aziraphale’s gaze as the angel realized that Crowley knew. Not that he knew what was wrong, just that he knew that something was. That was more than enough. His expression changed suddenly. He withdrew his hand and stood up. 

“Perhaps you are right, Crowley. I don’t have much of an appetite today, I fear. I shouldn’t have eaten so much for lunch. Maybe we could return here some other time? It surely is a nice restaurant and I would like to appreciate it properly.”

“Sure, angel.” Puzzled, Crowley stood up just as the waitress came with the wine. In one synchronized movement he took the bottle with one hand and paid for it with the other, leaving a generous tip and a little suggestion that everything is fine. 

“Why Journey’s End Shiraz?” he asked, accompanying Aziraphale back into the elevator. 

“Oh… you wanted something else? Sorry… I-I just fancied something earthy and smokey. I can order something else if you want…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Crowley said soothingly. “I just found it an interesting choice… with a rice pudding.”

“I… uh…”

The elevator came. 

“Come on, angel," Crowley smiled and entered the cabin first, circling Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale followed, avoiding Crowley's look. At floor 34, he clasped his hands together and started rubbing his fingers with his thumbs. At floor 17, he ceased the movement for a while to adjust his bowtie. By floor 8 he let his hands fall to his sides and remained still until they reached the ground floor. Consciously still, as if he realized that the little movements are giving him away. 

Crowley almost started wringing his own hands in a need to see that tense stillness dissolved. He tried to put them into his pockets but failed in the tight trousers, so he hooked his thumbs on his snake belt instead. 

When the elevator door opened and Aziraphale moved to walk out, it was almost a relief. 

Crowley hurried to follow, scanning their surroundings to make sure there was no danger. 

There was no danger. There was just an anxious angel who would shut him out and retreat into himself if they reach the bookshop while he's in this mood, not giving Crowley a chance to help him with whatever was bothering him. He only had one chance to change it. 

There was something he has been saving for some special occasion. He didn't imagine the occasion like this, but it could work now.

* * *

The Bentley crossed a pedestrian zone and parked on the sidewalk in front of a little Lebanese restaurant. 

"Oh, I'm not sure I want to try another restaurant now," Aziraphale said when he realized why they stopped. "I'm still feeling rather full, I would just ruin your impression. I'm so sorry for being a nuisance."

"You're not being a nuisance, angel," Crowley said firmly. "If you don't feel like having dinner, you don't have to get one. I just know the owner here and it's a rather small and quiet place. We could open the wine here. Some earthy smokiness sounds rather tempting and deserves to be savoured properly."

"Oh. But… Crowley, you can't bring your own food or drinks to a restaurant! That's rude!"

"Is it? Well, good thing I didn't fill my rudeness quota for the week then."

Aziraphale gaped at him. "You… you didn't tell me you still have to fill quotas," he said shakily.

Crowley watched him carefully from behind the sunglasses. "Relax, angel. I don't. Just a figure of speech. I don't need to fill any quotas."

"Ah. That's all right, then. Jolly good. But we still shouldn't bring our own wine."

"Bah, it's fine. A generous tip solves everything. But I will ask first if you want."

"Well, I guess it's fine if they allow it," Aziraphale said uncertainly and Crowley could see his chances of being told what's wrong lowering bit by bit. Stupid rules. Stupid wine. He just needed an excuse to get Aziraphale into this particular restaurant.

They picked one of the three free tables out of a total of six and Crowley spoke to the waiter and owner in one person who brought the menu. He made sure to not use any miracles, so Aziraphale could be certain they aren't breaking any rules. 

The owner apparently knew Crowley, and soon he brought them glasses and a corkscrew, graciously opening the wine and pouring it. "Anything else, gentlemen?" 

"Yes," Crowley said without opening the menu. "The honey cake."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale frowned when the waiter left. "I said I didn't want…"

"It's for me, angel. So that we don't sit here with our own drink without getting anything else. If you want cake, order your own."

"Oh. All right," Aziraphale got quiet, taking the stem of his wine glass. 

"So… what are we drinking to today?" Crowley asked with a little hint of encouragement.

"Oh, right," Aziraphale said a bit wonderingly as if remembering that he wanted to celebrate something before. "To… being free, I guess."

Crowley studied his face for a while. "To being free," he repeated and clinked their glasses. 

They drank in silence. When the glasses were half full (or half empty, depending on the angle of view), the cake arrived. 

Aziraphale's eyebrows shot up when he smelled it and Crowley smiled to himself. The chances of Aziraphale sharing what's wrong with him were getting up. The cake smelled of honey and a mix of spices and he could practically see the memory resurfacing in the angel's mind.

"Crowley… is that _ougat dwash_?"

"Yep."

"It smells just like the one Deborah used to make."

"Yep. Tastes like it, too. Want some?"

"Sly tempter…" Aziraphale smiled a bit, but then the smile faded. "I… No. It's yours. I'll order my own."

Crowley rolled his eyes and pushed the plate to Aziraphale. "Don't take everything I say that literally, angel. You know I ordered it for you."

Aziraphale hesitated for a while longer, but then he took the plate. For once, he ignored the proper table manners and took the cake into his fingers instead of using a fork. There were no forks when he last enjoyed that cake 3000 years ago. 

Crowley watched. He always enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat. He was aware of the constant stream of thoughts in Aziraphale's mind, the countless worries, and what-ifs. But the sensation of taste was something that could make those thoughts go silent for a while; an anchor that rooted him in the pleasure of the present moment. The shift was always visible in Aziraphale's face and Crowley loved to observe it. 

Now it took longer than usual, but he could see the moment it happened. Not just a temporary reprieve from worries, but a bonus 'good old times' memory on the top of that, too. Bingo. 

The full effect did not last beyond the last bite, but the echo of the taste and memory would linger longer. Crowley hoped it would be enough as he accompanied Aziraphale back to the bookshop. 

* * *

They were standing on the doorstep, and Crowley waited for an invitation. He has never entered the bookshop without an invitation. Not that he couldn't, he wasn't a vampire or something. But he wouldn't. 

"Thank you for the evening, my dear," Aziraphale smiled regretfully. "So sorry I ruined it. But that cake… it was so nice to taste it again."

"You didn't ruin anything, Aziraphale. Why would you think that?"

"No? Then why were you worried all the time? You knew the owner of that restaurant, so you have been there more than once. Why did you only take me there now? It seems like you have been saving it especially for cheering me up. But I don't need cheering up now."

Crowley opened his mouth and closed them again. Bless it, he forgot for a moment that Aziraphale knew him equally well as he knew the angel. 

"Uhhhh… okay. I admit I was worried."

"Well, there's no reason to be. Everything is fine. Great, actually. Yes, everything is great."

"Okay," Crowley nodded slowly. "Everything is great. That's good to know, really. But… maybe it wasn't great all the time today?"

Aziraphale's expression grew a little uncertain with that assumption, and Crowley could see he was just inches away from retreating inside. Everything could be great, sure. The problem was that Aziraphale had a habit of excluding himself from the term "everything". 

Crowley took a deep breath. He never did this before. It was a step behind the line. It was not his place to ask. He wouldn't find the courage to do this for himself. But now he did it for Aziraphale.

"Angel, please… may I come in?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth and closed it again, flustered by the unexpected step in the dance. "I… uh… would you like to? I mean… are you sure? I'm not much of a good company today, and an even worse host, I fear. I really must apologize for the evening...."

Crowley couldn’t banish the wry smirk from his lips. “Angel, if I only stayed with you when you are a good host, we wouldn’t see each other often.”

There was a little tremble in Aziraphale’s chin, suppressed immediately. “Well, we don’t have to, if…”

“Oh come on, Aziraphale. I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care about the rating of your company. I’m fine with it being just company, it's good by default. Or with just being company to you. Do you really think I mind whether you are being a proper host or not?” 

“No, no, of course not,” Aziraphale shook his head. “I’m sorry, Crowley. Please, come in if you want to. You are welcome.”

“Of course I want to,” Crowley said and entered through the door that Aziraphale politely opened for him. The hint of surprise in the angel's face that he caught as he passed him made Crowley's heart ache. 

The surprise of someone genuinely desiring his company even when he didn't have much to offer on top of it was a very, very old feeling Aziraphale carried. But Crowley thought it was already fading, bit by bit, as they were free now to see each other whenever they wanted. Something made it come back.

He got a thought. “Hey, what if I play the host if you don’t feel like it?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Uhm… if you want…”

Crowley winked and headed straight for the little kitchen. He knew where everything was, of course. Actually, he knew it better than in his own showy kitchen. 

"So what would you like? Tea, wine? Whiskey?"

"Uhm… just tea, please," Aziraphale murmured, standing there a bit awkwardly.

Crowley nodded. He felt like he could use a glass of whiskey… or five. But Aziraphale needed something with rules and rituals, so tea it was.

He started making it while the angel just hovered nearby as if not knowing what to do. 

“Do you have some biscuits?” Crowley asked, despite knowing perfectly well where they were. 

“Oh. Sure. Let me find them…”

Arranging the biscuits neatly on a plate gave Aziraphale something to do until Crowley made the tea and put the kettle with two cups on a tray.

"Please, sit down," Crowley pointed on Aziraphale's favourite chair across the ancient sofa in the corner, and the angel obeyed almost mechanically.

The demon put the tea on the table between them. He poured it into the cups and then sprawled on the sofa. He didn't touch his own cup yet. He just watched the angel intently, not saying anything. 

Aziraphale avoided Crowley’s look as he offered him sugar. “There is no reason to worry, really,” he said finally after another moment of pointed silence. 

“Really?" Crowley asked gently and took one spoon of it. "Tell me why I shouldn’t worry then.”

Aziraphale only added milk to his tea. He took a sip and then set the cup back on the saucer. “I fear you might still worry even if I tell you… completely unnecessarily, mind you.” He smiled, but it looked forced. 

Crowley’s spoon stopped in the middle of stirring his tea. He thought back to Aziraphale’s initial cheerfulness - or rather relief of seeing Crowley again? He thought about the missing appetite and the wine order and the restaurant - on the 40th floor of a business district.

“Angel…” he said softly and put down the spoon next to the cup. Then he removed his sunglasses and looked at Aziraphale.

“...have you been to Heaven today?”

Aziraphale cringed as if expecting an outburst or scolding. 

Crowley opened his mouth and then closed it again. 

Instead of saying anything, he got up from his seat and knelt at Aziraphale's side. He took Aziraphale's hand into both of his. It was cold and trembling a little. Crowley's hands felt, on the contrary, too hot. But they were trembling, too.

"You have, haven't you?" Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale just nodded, pressing his lips into a tight line.

"You thought I would be angry with you if you told me?"

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, taken aback by the words. "No, of course not! I… Uhm… yes? But I… I know you wouldn't. Right?" He bit his lip. "I didn't think it… I… might have felt it, a little. I'm sorry, Crowley. You must think I don't trust you now…"

Crowley studied the angel's face carefully. Then he sighed. "You have been to Heaven. Of course, you felt like anger would be the normal reaction if you told the truth. But now you are not there anymore. Here, it wouldn't be a normal reaction. It never will, all right?"

"Here?" Aziraphale asked shakily, wanting to hear the answer despite knowing what it will be.

Crowley smiled a little and indulged him by saying it. "Our own side."

Aziraphale took a deep breath, centering himself in the meaning of the three short words. 

"Why have you been to Heaven, angel?" Crowley asked gently. But his hold of Aziraphale's hand was firm, almost possessive - as if he was afraid that the angel would disappear if he didn't hold him firm enough.

Aziraphale watched him, but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond Crowley. "There's no reason to worry. Everything is great," he whispered in a weak voice.

And Crowley thought: _Fuck. It absolutely isn't._


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley still knelt at Aziraphale's side, caressing his hand. He didn't press for the answers he desperately wanted. Only when he saw Aziraphale getting calmer, and the angel's eyes focused on him, he spoke again. "You said I must think you don't trust me," he said. "See, I don't think that.  _ Do _ you trust me, angel?" 

Aziraphale nodded before even finding the proper words. "Of… of course, dear. I trust you. I just… I thought about telling you, and it seemed to me it would only make things feel worse. For both of us. Just… hear me out, please? I know it's more than I have the right to ask for, but..."

Crowley stood up, frowning. There were white halls spanning in front of his mind's eye. "No, Aziraphale. You do have the full right to ask to be heard out before being judged. You shouldn't even have to ask for it."

Aziraphale's look was surprised and somehow most present since they entered the bookshop, as if shocked into attention.

Crowley sighed and sat on the table in front of the angel, pushing the teacup aside. "I trust you, too. When you say that the worry is unnecessary, I believe you. And you have returned safely, so apparently your judgment was correct.” He leaned towards Aziraphale. “But when it comes to judging what I would want, and what the expression  _ everything is great  _ means, I fear we might not be on the same page. So please. Tell me what happened."

Aziraphale gulped, wringing his hands nervously. "I'm so sorry if I disappointed you. I… I got an official missive, from Heaven."

"From Gabriel?" Crowley asked through clenched teeth.

"No. The Angelic resources department."

"Oh? What did they want?"

"To put their paperwork in order. They called me to sign an official resignation and a non-disclosure agreement."

"Could be a trap."

"I know, Crowley. Of course I didn't trust them."

"So what did you do?"

"I wrote to Gabriel."

Crowley winced with the reminder of the white halls and the looks of the Archangels he never wanted Aziraphale to have to face again. The cups on the table rattled as he leaned back. "You fucking what?"

"Language, dear."

"You wrote to Archangel fucking Gabriel?"

The cups rattled again.

Aziraphale wanted to say something, but then just waved his hand. "Yes. I wrote him a message with a copy being sent to Angelic resources. I asked him if he is informed about this and if such an agreement would be binding to all of Heaven, Archangels included."

"Binding to what, exactly?" Crowley asked, frowning.

"It turned out the message really was from AR and Gabriel didn't know about it. As far as AR was concerned, it was supposed to end all my obligations to them and theirs to me…”

“... as if they have ever done anything for you,” Crowley interrupted.

Aziraphale bit his lip but didn’t answer that comment. “...with a legally binding contract that I don’t reveal any classified information on Heaven to a human or denizen of Hell,” he continued instead. “By the way, you don’t count as either, I checked the formulation several times to make sure.”

Crowley nodded slowly, processing the information. “That… sounds reasonable,” he admitted. “What about humans who already know?”

“Doesn’t count. I did add several clauses before accepting that formulation.”

“Good. I’m sure you wouldn’t get caught in a legal formula.”

Aziraphale smiled with the unexpected praise. “Thank you.”

“What about Gabriel and Archangels?"

"He confirmed it would apply to them, too."

Crowley looked at him suspiciously. "You made… some private contract with them, didn’t you?”  


“Yes, correct. Basically, they agreed to leave us alone," Aziraphale smiled. The smile did not reach his eyes, though.

Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face carefully, dreading the answer to his next question. “In exchange for what?”

"Well… remember how your trial was public, but mine had no audience besides the Archangels?"

"Yes," Crowley snarled. "As if they wanted to get rid of you quietly, without witnesses."

"Exactly," Aziraphale nodded, not looking bothered by the thought as much as Crowley did. He wasn’t there. "They wanted to keep it secret. Both the execution and their collaboration with Hell. Imagine the other angels would learn how I rebelled against the Archangels and didn’t Fall."

"So you used that against them…" Crowley breathed out, impressed despite his concerns. 

"Yes. I bound myself to never reveal that to Heaven, in exchange for their promise of our safety.”

“And they agreed to it?”

“They had no other option. I really have to thank the AR for keeping their paperwork in order. If I didn’t already have an appointment with them, nobody would notice I’d gone missing… you know, if the Archangels found me threatening enough to finish what they'd started. I would not dare to blackmail them like that, without having been expected elsewhere in Heaven.”

Crowley had to admire the angel in front of him. So clever and brave. He may be nervous and fretful before and after, but when it came to actually doing something, he just did what was needed. Blackmailing the Archangels. Crowley had goosebumps just thinking about that. Only the fact that Aziraphale was sitting in front of him, alive and safe, prevented him from freaking out, actually. 

“So they agreed,” Aziraphale smiled faintly. “Gabriel put a condition of his own into our agreement that I accepted, and we made the deal.”

Actually, no. The fact that Aziraphale was sitting there didn't prevent Crowley from freaking out. “What condition?” 

“Oh, nothing important. It doesn’t really affect us.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley frowned deeply, trying to control his panic. “What condition?”

“I… I’ll get to it soon, okay? Let me explain things in order.”

Crowley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He still watched the angel suspiciously, but then he nodded, not wanting to press him. 

“More tea?” he asked instead, reaching for the cup he pushed away. He warmed it with a subtle miracle and pressed it into the angel's cold hands. Aziraphale usually kept it at the temperature he liked himself. But since meeting with him today, Crowley hasn’t seen him doing any miracles and it started to worry him now. 

Aziraphale sipped the tea, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Crowley could see his muscles tensing and relaxing at least twice. It took all of his will to remain patient. Knowing Heaven, he was getting more and more concerned. 

"I didn't go Up without a guarantee, of course," Aziraphale finally spoke. "They tried to kill me, so… I guess there was no point in pretense?"

It sounded a bit like back there, in the garden.  _ I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing? _

"Of course there wasn't," Crowley reassured him.  _ Shut your stupid mouth and die already _, Gabriel smiled in his thoughts. "No point at all."

Aziraphale nodded, looking a bit less conflicted. "Well then… I asked for one of the Archangels to stay here while I'm Upstairs, trapped in a summoning circle that only I can break. I return by the time we agreed, with everything going as we agreed, I let them out. I don't return by the time we agreed…  _ you _ find them when you come to pick me up for dinner, bound and powerless. With an explaining note from me."

Crowley clenched his fists and breathed through gritted teeth, needing a moment to deal with the idea that he could have arrived today, four minutes and twenty-six seconds late, to find a trapped Archangel and no Aziraphale. That’s why Aziraphale didn’t open the door right away. He was getting rid of the circle...

"What was in the note?" he asked hoarsely.

Aziraphale avoided the intent serpent gaze. "I… I already destroyed it. It all worked out, so I didn't want you to see… there was an explanation and some instructions. I asked you to not be too harsh with Michael, but I didn't really specify what you should do with him. I wanted to leave that to you."

"So it was Michael?"

"Yes. He volunteered."

Crowley was quiet for a while. "It was a goodbye letter, wasn't it?"

Aziraphale wrung his hands. "I… might have written a few things… I wanted you to know in case I didn't come back."

Crowley stood up and started pacing. "So it was an option!" he said with a shade of hysteria. "It was possible that you wouldn’t return..." 

Slowly, he stopped his pacing and took a deep breath. He returned to Aziraphale and knelt before him, looking up like a supplicant for a blessing. "Why didn't you tell me, Aziraphale?"

The angel sobbed and slipped down from the armchair, joining the demon on the floor. He hid his face in his palms. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Crowley. I couldn't bear it! I couldn't bear the thought that you would be pacing here, worried for me. Like now, but much worse. Or you would try to do something… prevent me from going… or try to swap places again. It… It was comforting, knowing that you are safe here, looking forward to a nice dinner. I left you a present, to remember me…"

Crowley stared at him blankly, with a dawning understanding. He reached for the duckling plushie in his pocket. It greeted him with a sense of familiarity as if he would be touching Aziraphale. “Your feather…” he whispered. “There’s your feather inside.”

Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley sighed shakily. "You left me a feather… inside a silly duckling plushie.”

“I… I wanted it to make you smile.”

“Oh angel… You… You… Ngk,” Crowley shook his head, not finding the words. He clutched the toy in his hand and took a deep breath. “You were right. Of course, I would try something. Wouldn't you try something if I told you I'm going to take a trip to Hell? I would go instead of you, if I could."

"I know! That's why I didn't tell you… You would tempt me. I didn't have enough resolve to arrange all of this and resist you at the same time!" 

Crowley shifted. He put the toy back into his pocket and slipped one arm around the angel. Aziraphale leaned into the touch.

"I wouldn't tempt you, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “I've never actually tempted you. I just know you well enough to use the right arguments."

"That's what I mean…" Aziraphale sobbed. 

"I see," Crowley sighed, embracing him more tightly. "Was it so important to you to do it on your own?"

Aziraphale nodded into Crowley's shoulder. 

"Maybe I wouldn't try to dissuade you if I saw that. I can't tell for certain, because I wasn't given a choice about it. But I'd like to think that I would let you go if it was so important to you. But why?"

It took a while of sobbed apologies before Aziraphale calmed enough to answer the question. "I didn’t want you to go instead of me. I needed a closure," he whispered. "I wanted to see Heaven one last time. Take leave properly. I used to belong there, you see. Well… I wanted to belong, at least."

"But you didn't. Because you are better than Heaven."

Aziraphale smiled faintly as if appreciating the sentiment, but not believing it fully. "I thought if I see it, without any delusions, it might be easier to… to deal with that part of me that still wants to be a good angel."

"You  _ are _ a good angel, Aziraphale. The word you are looking for is  _ obedient_, I believe."

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment. "Maybe," he admitted.

"Did it work?"

"Maybe? I believe it did. I certainly don't want to go back. I mean… I never actually wanted to go back, but I sometimes wished I would be an angel who would want to."

"I wouldn't prevent you from going if you told me that. I could have helped you plan and prepare."

"But you would be worried while I would be away."

"As I bloody should, you stupid angel!"

"Fine, you fussy demon!" Aziraphale bristled.

Crowley chuckled and Aziraphale chuckled with him through the tears. 

"Next time, I will tell you," Aziraphale said. "Not that there would be a next time, I made sure about that. But if a similar situation ever comes up, I will tell you."

Crowley smiled a little. "Thank you. I promise I will tell you too if I face something like that. Something that might worry you, that is."

Aziraphale reached for Crowley's hand and pressed it. "I appreciate that, my dear. I'm really sorry I didn't do that."

"It will take some time to get used to being on our own side, won't it?"

Aziraphale nodded quietly. 

"Just remember you can't hide when you are feeling down from me," Crowley winked. "So you don't save me the worry, just delay it."

"Oh."

"Speaking about that… I'll let you tell me everything in order, just please, answer me one question first, if you want to save me a lot of worries."

"Of course, dear."

"Aziraphale, did they take away your miracles?"

"My… Oh. That's what you are worried about? No. I’m an angel, of course I can do miracles. They just won't back me up with Heavenly resources, but I have learned to rely on my own power long ago, unless on official missions. Less paperwork that way. I'm perfectly fine in that regard."

"Ah," Crowley relaxed visibly. "That's good, then. So… tell me what exactly happened in Heaven, would you?"

"Right." Aziraphale reached for the tea on the table and sipped from it while still sitting on the ground, leaning on Crowley. Then he put the cup back and carefully positioned it in the middle of the saucer. 

"So… I summoned Michael into the circle and he showed up with no resistance, as we agreed." 

"Okay…"

"Then I used the other circle to get to Heaven."

"Other circle," Crowley frowned. "You mean the one… that got you discorporated before?" 

"Y-Yes."

Crowley gritted his teeth. "Whose idea was that? Let me guess, Gabriel? Sandalphon?"

"Angelic resources," Aziraphale quipped. "I guess they didn't realize… But I made sure to prepare properly this time. I've done it dozens of times before, there was no danger with the correct preparation…"

"Sure not," Crowley said darkly. "But how did it feel?"

Aziraphale blinked. "What?"

"When you stepped into the circle. How did it feel?"

"Does it matter?"

Crowley felt a strong urge to strangle someone Upstairs.

"It fucking does," he snarled. But then his expression softened. "So? Would you mind telling me? It matters to me..."

Aziraphale thought for a moment. "I don't really know how to explain it…" He watched his hands in his lap. 

Crowley could have moved on. He wanted to know what exactly happened, preferably as soon as possible. But whatever happened, it was over and there was no imminent danger now. He could only help Aziraphale to recognize and deal with the consequences. And for that, he needed to go slow now.

"Because you are still hesitant to think bad of angels, even after what they did to you," he said quietly. "Old habits, right?"

Aziraphale looked at him and nodded just a little.

"It's all right. You don’t need to speak about it if it’s hard. I think I can imagine…” Crowley said and pressed Aziraphale’s hand.

“Well, it wasn’t pleasant,” Aziraphale said slowly as if testing it. “It made me feel like I was going to discorporate again. It hurt, back then. Not for long, but a lot. So much that it  _ did _ feel long. And now… I could almost feel the pain of it again. But… it was the fastest way. I wanted to be done with it as soon as possible. And it technically wasn’t the same circle. I erased that one and had to draw it anew. So I just stepped in to get it over with.”

“I see…” 

“Did… did I do that wrong?” Aziraphale asked.

“Wrong? I don’t know, Aziraphale. I don’t think there is a right or wrong here. Pros and cons, maybe,” Crowley sighed, watching the angel from the side. It was obvious now that Aziraphale has been to Heaven. Millenia of their words and attitude to him were ingrained too deeply and didn’t need much to show through. Maybe just a short visit back there.

"But if you mean, was it wrong from my point of view, then I'll tell you you don't need to be concerned about what others think about your decisions."

"But I am concerned about what you think about my decisions. Because... Because I like you, Crowley."

Crowley’s cognitive abilities threatened to shut down with the casual admission. He blinked, filing it for later consideration so that he could give Aziraphale the reassurance he needed. 

He cleared his throat. "What about  _ my _ decisions then? Do you think they are wrong sometimes?"

"You mean, like that time when you let Warlock eat all the candy from the shelf? Or the time when you broke the bridge with you on the wrong side of the river?"

"Gchnnn. That's not what I mean. Those were, like, objectively wrong decisions. I meant some that don’t make it that obvious. But, fine. Let's take those. Do you think less of me because of them?"

"No, not really. Some are rather amusing to observe."

"Yeah, thank you. My point is, so what, if you make a wrong decision. Think I'll think less of you?"

"Well… no, I guess."

"See? You are afraid I would because Heaven did. But I don't care what stupid choices you make. They are your choices and I'll support them. If you want help with making them, just ask and I'll discuss the pros and cons with you. Can't guarantee the final choice won't be stupid, still."

Aziraphale chuckled, reassured by that. 

"And I don't think it was wrong, anyway," Crowley added. "It had some pros, as you said. But it hurt you, and I feel like you are putting too little weight to that when making your decisions."

Aziraphale thought about that for a moment. 

That was all Crowley hoped for right now. He didn't press. When it was clear that Aziraphale won't say anything to it, he steered the conversation further, still feeling uneasy about the Archangels' condition. "So what happened once you got to Heaven?" 

"Well, they expected me."

"Who?"

"Everyone."

Crowley felt his mouth going dry. "You mean… all of Heaven was watching?"

"Uhm," Aziraphale nodded.

"Ugh. How even is that…"

"Big room. And non-corporeal angels."

Crowley made a disgusted face. "Like swimming in angel soup?"

"Errr… Quite."

"But the soup is watching you. Lovely."

Touching Aziraphale's hand, Crowley could feel the little shudder that ran through it. He decided to not comment on it further. He could imagine Aziraphale walking across a vast white room, the steps of his material body echoing on the polished floor while millions of presences are watching his every move and expression. He shuddered himself. 

"Assholes," he muttered and shifted closer to Aziraphale.

"Only the Archangels were corporeal," Aziraphale continued in a flat tone of voice. 

"Assholes," Crowley repeated.

The corners of Aziraphale's mouth lifted a little.

"Gabriel made a speech," he went on. "Disobeying orders, interfering with the Great Plan, consorting with demons, consumption of gross matter, behaviour unworthy of an angel and all that," he shrugged nonchalantly.

He did not fool Crowley. 

"Asshole," the demon intoned, his blood boiling at the thought of Gabriel's smug expression while telling off Aziraphale - the only angel who truly cared for humanity, better than all of them - in front of the whole Heaven. 

He looked at Aziraphale. "You did not believe anything of that, right?"

"No, of course not."

"But?"

"Why do you think there is a but?"

Crowley just raised his eyebrows instead of an answer. 

"But… I still couldn't feel indifferent to it," Aziraphale sighed. "I tried, I really did."

"And I'm proud of you for that," Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale smiled shakily. 

"They don't understand," Crowley said fervently. "They know shit about Earth and humanity. They also know shit about the Ineffable Plan, as we saw. You know much more about both of those things than all of them together. So Gabriel can take his speech and shove it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Dear, I know nothing about the Ineffable Plan. I wouldn't dare to claim I know anything."

"See? That's exactly why you know more than them. You don't claim to understand what you don't understand. And you certainly wouldn't start a war over it."

Aziraphale nodded slowly. "I see your point. I understand that their words shouldn't mean anything to me. I just… don't know why it's so hard to accept."

"But I know. 6.000 years worth of brainwashing, angel. That's hard to overcome in a few months. Even for someone as strong-willed as you."

"I…"

Crowley put a finger to Aziraphale's lips, hushing him. "You are."

Aziraphale exhaled slowly. 

The breath was warm on Crowley's finger, making him dizzy for a moment. He held it on the angel's lips longer than necessary before withdrawing it. 

He cleared his throat again. "So, yeah. Gabriel is an asshole. Hey, would you like to say it? Come on, repeat after me. Gabriel is an asshole. You will feel better, trust me."

"Crowley! I can't say such things, I'm an angel!"

"Yeah? Aren't angels supposed to tell the truth? It's totally true."

Aziraphale tried to stifle a grin, not quite successfully. 

"You want to stop caring for his opinion. So come on, say it. Gabriel is an asshole. Just try how it feels."

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, still trying not to smile at the ridiculousness of Crowley's demand. 

"Or not, if you don't want to," Crowley added more softly. "It's up to you."

"I'm not sure… Maybe later. I still owe you the rest of the story."

Crowley just shrugged. "We have time." He looked at Aziraphale carefully. "We do, right? They didn't make you promise to do some work for them, or go somewhere or something?"

"No, no. We have time."

"Good. That's good then. So go on with the story, if you want. But you may pause anytime to say that Gabriel is an asshole."

Aziraphale chuckled. "Thank you, my dear. I will remember that. So, where were we? Ah yes, the speech..." His smile faded with the memory. 

"There was the official part then," he continued flatly. "Signing all the paperwork. I insisted on getting a copy ahead, but I had to make sure no formulation was changed without my knowledge, so it took a while."

"And of course they didn't offer you a chair," Crowley muttered.

"Actually, they did. I was surprised, too."

Crowley tensed suddenly. "Angel, what did the chair look like?"

"Just a normal office chair. One of those turning things, beige seat, chrome wheels and armrests…" Aziraphale looked at him with an unspoken question in his eyes. 

Tight rope binding his wrists to the armrests. Rough hand pushing him on the chair where they wanted him to be. To his death. That's how they would treat Aziraphale if he was there. 

"Crowley?"

He blinked. For a moment, he considered not telling Aziraphale. Letting him keep the illusion of a little kindness. But he couldn't. Aziraphale deserved the truth. 

"It was the chair they bound me to at your trial, angel," he said softly. 

He could see the thought settling in Aziraphale's mind, his eyes saddening. "Oh… I didn't know."

"Yeah. Probably better that way."

"Well, at least I didn't have to pretend to be unphased by it. That's good."

"Like you had to pretend with everything else?" Crowley asked darkly and immediately regretted the words.

Aziraphale looked away. 

_ Shit, shit, shit, _ Crowley thought. He could as well punch the angel in the gut. 

"You are right," Aziraphale said quietly. "I pretended. I pretended that I was you… pretending to be me."

"Angel…"

Aziraphale shook his head. "I am not brave. But I could pretend it, that way. I could keep the face of someone who can breathe hellfire at the Archangels at any moment and chooses not to. I… I know it doesn't work like that, you need to summon it before you can do anything with it… But pretending to be you, I could be brave."

Crowley sighed shakily. "But you are, Aziraphale. I was only brave there because I pretended to be you."

"I'm not…"

"You are. What else is bravery than pretense? You can't be brave if you feel no fear. That way you are just stupid. To be brave, you have to be afraid and pretend that you aren't. And I think you have been very, very brave today. Am I right?"

Aziraphale lowered his eyes, looking at Crowley's hand, still holding his. "If you put it like that… I guess, maybe."

"Of course I'm right," Crowley smiled. "I'm always right."

Aziraphale snorted with that.

"Hngh, okay, not always, just most of the time."

Still smirking a little, Aziraphale leaned his head on the armchair, admiring the view of Crowley's eyes, unobscured by sunglasses. He looked more relaxed now. He was ready to continue.

"So I'm no longer affiliated with Heaven," he said. It sounded a little relieved and a little wistful. "Not that I would be after the Apocalypse fiasco, but it's official now."

Crowley nodded. "Congrats on getting rid of the assholes."

Aziraphale smirked again, but there was sadness behind it. 

"I'm no longer a Principality, either," he said. He reached for his almost empty cup of tea and drank what was left in it in one gulp. 

Crowley stared at him. "What?"

"Not even a regular angel."

A tense demon moved from his sitting position to kneeling in front of Aziraphale and almost hit his head on the table in the process. He pushed it aside. "You are an angel, Angel. I can sense it. What do you mean, you're not a regular angel?"

"The rank," Aziraphale whispered. "I'm no longer in the Heavenly hierarchy. Not a Principality, nor an angel. Just an angel as a species, I guess. If the humans had a caste society and the lowest caste would be called humans and you cast out someone from it… that's what I would be. Below everyone."

Crowley watched him with concern. "Did it hurt?" he asked. "Did they do something to you when removing those titles?"

"No," Aziraphale said reassuringly, willing the demon to relax with a gesture. "They can't change my essence. Only God could do an ontological shift like that. There was just a little ceremony. Like the one you get with a promotion, but opposite. A bit humiliating, but not too bad."

Crowley did not relax. "What do you mean,  _ a bit humiliating _ ?"

Aziraphale sighed. "Well, if you have to know, I had to kneel and repeat several times that I'm renouncing my angelic titles because I'm not worthy of them."

Crowley took a deep breath and let it out to calm himself. The image of Aziraphale kneeling in front of all Heaven, saying he is not worth them, his face a carefully guarded mask - pretending to be him pretending to be Aziraphale saying those words… that image was leaving imprints on the insides of his eyelids like it was painted with hellfire.

"Not below them," he said hoarsely.

"I'm sorry?"

"Being outside of their hierarchy. You are not below them. You are out of the box. A stifling, boring, white box. You are free." 

"R-Right," Aziraphale smiled shakily. "I know. Just a bit of vanity speaking from me, I think."

"Ah," Crowley murmured as he understood the matter. "The title."

Aziraphale nodded. "I was a Principality. A Guardian. Earth was my territory I was supposed to protect. I had a role. I liked it… being a Principality."

"But you still are," Crowley said. He stood up from the floor and offered his hand to Aziraphale. "You protected it even against your own side. They can take the title, but they can't take that role from you, Principality Aziraphale. Like they can't make you stop being an angel."

Aziraphale took the offered hand and let Crowley raise him from the ground and help him sit down on the sofa. 

"You are right, of course," he sighed, folding his hands in his lap. "It would just be nice to be properly acknowledged for it. Even with a stupid title."

Crowley joined him on the sofa. "Of course it would. That's not vanity, it's a perfectly normal need. Sure, it can turn to vanity if nudged properly, but everybody feels it. You have all the right to feel bad about not being acknowledged as you deserve. I'm sorry, angel."

"Thank you, dear," Aziraphale said quietly. "I'll get used to it."

"Do you want more tea? Or rather something stronger?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "I'd rather finish with the retelling if you don't mind. Sorry it's taking me that long, I keep digressing and not getting to the point and worrying you needlessly…"

"I would rather say it's me, interrupting you all the time."

"No, that's fine. The interruptions, I mean. Gives me time to think."

"Take all the time you need," Crowley said, secretly pleased that he was able to give Aziraphale some time to process today's experiences instead of listing them all at once. Even for the price of anticipation of that Archangels' condition, still looming ahead in the tale. 

Maybe not that far ahead, though, he realized when he looked at Aziraphale. The angel was indeed taking his time. There was tension in his shoulders, his hands stiff in his lap, his look downcast. He could very well be a statue in his stillness. 

Crowley could sense the inner fight. No wonder there was one: Aziraphale just returned from Heaven. Those assholes always made him feel like he didn't deserve anything like he was a nuisance - and that was when it even wasn't their primary intention. Now it was. Now they purposely made Aziraphale's last visit to Heaven as demeaning as possible while staying within the bounds of their agreement. Of course he was hesitant to share something that would hurt Crowley. Of course he would rather suffer quietly than worry someone else.

Crowley could just hope that his words and actions today were enough to tip the scales. He couldn't do more now. He could just give Aziraphale all the time he needed for the battle with the echoes of Heaven's words that he fought in his own mind. Crowley's concern could be patient if it needed to be.

Finally, Aziraphale sighed. "Pulsei denura," he said quietly.

Crowley's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the rage building up in him like deadly pressure rising inside a dormant volcano.

_ Well, for Heaven's sake, we are meant to make examples out of traitors. _

Pulsei denura. Lashes of fire. Heaven's usual exemplary punishment. 

"You are hurt?" he asked, alarmed. "Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't drag you to the restaurants… I could heal..."

"Crowley, please. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Wouldn't do what, angel?" Crowley's voice sounded strange in his own ears. Too high, too strained.

Aziraphale was still studying his own hands, soft and pale in his lap. "Make you feel guilty for causing me pain. You didn't. The lashes… they are not on my corporation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pulsei denura are the standard punishment dolled out to angels by Heaven in the Talmud, and I learned about them in BuggreAlleThis's story [Like the Wolf on the Fold ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163458). I also mentioned taking a few headcanons from their stories, but not all of them, as you can see (if you know them). In particular, I omitted the one about the way of demotion in angelic ranks because the focus of this story is elsewhere and this would shift it.


	3. Chapter 3

_The lashes… they are not on my corporation._

Crowley's heart clenched. He knelt again, taking the angel's hands into his, warming them. They felt so cold… "Where are they, Aziraphale? What did they do to you?"

Aziraphale licked his dry lips, looking somewhere beyond Crowley again. "They… Gabriel told me to strip down. So I removed my coat and vest. And the shirt. He said it wasn't enough."

Crowley clenched his teeth but didn't interrupt Aziraphale.

"So I… I continued undressing. Until I was fully naked." His hands trembled and Crowley caressed them reassuringly, even though he was screaming inside. 

Aziraphale standing naked in front of the whole Heaven, all angels watching. His head held high, his gaze dignified. Only deep inside, scared and vulnerable. Alone.

"He said… he said it's not enough, either," Aziraphale whispered. "For a moment, I didn't understand. He laughed about it. Said I was too concerned about gross matter to be a proper angel."

Crowley needed all his restraint to not scream. He tried catching Aziraphale's gaze, but the angel wasn't looking at him, lost in the memory.

"He… he told me to strip down the corporation and reveal my essence."

 _Shit shit shit shit shit._ Why didn't he realize sooner? Or course Aziraphale would avoid doing miracles. His essence was hurting. He would avoid them like humans avoided exercising an injured limb. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes firmly and Crowley moved next to him on the sofa to envelop him in an embrace. He radiated rage, but it was directed outwards. Inside the embrace, it felt safe and comforting. "Asshole," he snarled. "Fucking moron."

"Are you not going to scold me?" Aziraphale asked shakily.

The rage boiled over, its steam falling back as deep sadness. Crowley sagged a little but held Aziraphale even more firmly. "Why would I?" he managed to say around the lump in his throat.

"For agreeing to it," Aziraphale breathed out. "The lashes will heal. It was a small sacrifice for the promise of freedom. But you don't see it that way, do you? I thought you wouldn't… That's why I didn't tell you. I'm sorry, Crowley…"

"I'm not going to scold you, Aziraphale," Crowley said firmly and his fingers reached up to caress Aziraphale's cheek - a gentle, probing touch, allowing Aziraphale to withdraw or lean into it. "It was your choice. You already made it, so I don't care if it was good or bad, I'm going to support it. And you. Are you in pain? Can I do something?"

Aziraphale sobbed, leaning into the caress. "You already are…" he whispered. "You are the best distraction from the pain."

Crowley leaned closer. He lowered his lips towards the soft hair and kissed Aziraphale's temple. 

"How many?" he asked.

Aziraphale shivered. "Forty."

Crowley took a steadying breath before he could trust his voice. "Forty lashes?"

Aziraphale nodded. "That's what I agreed to. It's not so much. The usual number is fifty or sixty. But then Gabriel… he..." 

When the silence stretched for a while, Crowley pressed his hand encouragingly. "What did Gabriel do, angel? You can tell me…"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Feels like vanity speaking again, to feel offended by a lesser punishment, " he sighed. "But in front of all the angels, Gabriel said that… that for my treason, I deserve a hundred lashes. But I am weak and pathetic and he is going to be merciful, so I will only get forty."

Crowley's rage simmered again, flooding his blood. "That… that… bloody… fucking…. pretentious twat! Tailored bag of shit! In front of the whole Heaven! That's no fucking vanity angel, that's an absolutely reasonable wish to not be addressed like that!"

Aziraphale seemed to draw strength from the justified feeling of Crowley's anger. "Thank you, dear...."

"No no no no. I'm not finished. Listen, Aziraphale. Do you know why he did that?"

"He… wanted to belittle me?"

"That too. But I'm sure that wasn't the main reason. The main reason was that he feared you."

"I don't understand…"

"He also got that punishment once, didn't he? You told me about it."

"Y-Yes. For disobeying an order. Back when She still ordered those punishments Herself. He let someone else do what he was supposed to do personally."

"How many lashes did he get?"

"I'm pretty sure it was sixty."

"And when did he start to beg? Forty-five?"

"How do you know he did?"

"I'm quite sure of it."

"Forty-six."

"See? There you have it," Crowley said with grim satisfaction. "He couldn't give you more. You would endure it quietly and it would be him who would look weak and pathetic." 

"And how do you know I didn't beg?" Aziraphale asked shakily.

"Because you are the bravest, most stubborn angel I know. And even if you did, that remains true."

"You don't know that many of them."

"I know three Archangels."

Aziraphale smiled faintly. "I didn't make a sound. But only because I pretended to be you… pretending to be me."

"It was still you. No matter what you pretended, it was all you. And I'm sure you would have endured a hundred lashes with the same dignity. But I'm glad you didn't have to."

It was bad enough to imagine forty. Hell, it was unbearable to imagine just one. But Crowley's imagination had no such regards and was supplying the images vividly. 

Aziraphale's angelic essence stripped naked in front of millions of prying eyes. Gabriel's self-righteous sneer. A whip of holy fire, connecting with Aziraphale's light, slashing and burning. The calm radiating from his non-corporeal form, a hidden strength, and quiet endurance. That's Aziraphale. His angel. And they dared to hurt him, to… to…

"...listening to me? Crowley!"

He blinked. "Yes? Sorry! I got lost in thought. Was imagining what I would like to do to Gabriel."

Aziraphale smiled faintly. "That would be an act of violence, I fear. And as long as we don't do anything like that against Heaven, we have a guarantee of safety from their side." He took out something from the inner pocket of his coat. A piece of paper with a golden rim.

Even without touching it, Crowley could feel the document spanning across several dimensions. He could feel the powerful sigils in place of signatures. He could feel a hint of electricity and self-righteousness in one of them. 

"Pity," he muttered darkly, but then he caught Aziraphale's expression. "No, no, of course, I wouldn't. I'm sorry, angel. I shouldn't joke about that. You did so much to get that guarantee and it seems like I don't appreciate it. I really do."

"But you are angry at them," Aziraphale said. He put the document back into his pocket and leaned back on Crowley tiredly. "On my behalf. That… feels very nice, actually. Thank you."

Crowley sighed, his breath moving a curl of white hair. He took Aziraphale's hand into his and pressed a careful, reverent kiss on the knuckles. "You deserve so much more than the anger of just one demon on your behalf."

"I'm absolutely content with what I have, my dear." Aziraphale closed his eyes and didn't speak more for a while.

Crowley watched him carefully as he seemed to relax bit by bit, a burden eased from his shoulders by sharing it. It did not last long, though. Soon there was a slight tension in Aziraphale's jaw, his eyes shut with a little more force, deepening the wrinkles around them. 

Then he started to tremble.

"Aziraphale…" Crowley's voice trembled, too. "Does it hurt? Can I do something? Please, would you let me take a look at…"

"Why can't I feel happy about it?" Aziraphale burst out.

Crowley was taken aback. "What?"

"I wanted to celebrate when I came back! I wanted to enjoy the freedom! To have a nice dinner with you! But I… I can't. I don't feel happy. Why don't I feel happy?" 

Aziraphale leaned forward again, hiding his face in his palms while his shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.

For a few seconds, Crowley was frozen, not knowing how to react. He felt his heart breaking for the angel. Then it felt as if he was acting automatically, without a conscious decision. He brought forth his wings and wrapped them around Aziraphale together with his arms. 

"Hey. Hey…" he murmured soothingly. "It's all right. It takes time. You have been through so much for this. You deserve to be happy. And you will be. You will be, I promise. But it needs time. You can't expect to pull out a hurting, rotten tooth and enjoy your favourite meal right away. There is a wound left, and it needs to heal…"

Inside the dome of wings, it was dark and soft, like under a blanket. Aziraphale's breathing evened slowly, but he didn't move to leave Crowley's embrace. 

"We can't get caries," he murmured through the tears.

"Heh, no. Thankfully. But I've seen enough of humans getting it. 'Twas Ligur's idea."

Aziraphale didn't reply.

"The point is… Nobody can expect you to feel - can't believe I'm going to say it - _tickety-boo_ after what Heaven did to you," the demon continued when he saw that it's helping a bit. He was right - he sensed a little tremor in Aziraphale's midriff with the _tickety-boo_. A seed of a chuckle that didn't quite reach his lips.

"Not even you should expect it of yourself," he added gently. "And that's not even taking into account the corporal punishment."

"Essential…" Aziraphale murmured. "Not corporal."

"Essential," Crowley repeated with disgust. "Honestly, that sounds even worse. Like it was necessary… And don't even think of saying it was."

Aziraphale breathed in the spicy and smokey scent of the black feathers. It reminded him of the taste of Journey's End Shiraz and it was soothing like the honey cake. 

"I wasn't," he whispered.

"Good. Good…" Crowley's voice caressed the thought, encouraged it to grow. 

He could feel Aziraphale's breath on his feathers. He could feel the trustful pressure of a weary head leaning on his shoulder. But he could not relax, himself. 

"Aziraphale, please. I know I'm repeating myself and it must be getting annoying, but is there really nothing I can do about the pain?"

"Oh, dear…" Aziraphale sighed. "I fear not. It's not something you can put some balm or bandage on. As long as I don’t strain my essence, moving in the physical plane doesn’t have any influence on it, so I’m not limited in that. It just needs to heal, that's all. Nothing to do about it. I'm sorry. It must feel awful, thinking you are unable to help. But the truth is that you are helping right now. You are wonderful."

Crowley bit his lip. "Are you sure there's nothing? Would you let me take a look?"

Aziraphale tensed in his arms. "I… I don't know…"

 _Shit shit shit shit shit_. Too late Crowley realized what he was asking for. Aziraphale just had to bare his essence in front of the whole Heaven. Of course he wasn't comfortable with Crowley taking a look, even if he trusted him.

He tightened his embrace. "It's all right to say no, angel. I'm sorry I asked."

"But… it's a reasonable demand. It was bad enough that I kept it secret from you this long."

"Yeah?" Crowley smirked wryly. "Reason has nothing to do with it. I bet some of Heaven's demands were reasonable, too. What matters is how it makes you feel. If you feel uncomfortable but do it for me, it puts me on the level of those assholes Upstairs. Don't do that to me, please."

Aziraphale closed his eyes. The weariness was visible in his face and Crowley kept blaming himself for not thinking before he asked. He was afraid it was too much to process at once. Too fast again…

Finally, Aziraphale seemed to make a decision. He smiled weakly. "Thank you, Crowley. I almost put you into a position where you didn't want to be. I do not mind letting you see my essence. But not now. Now, I can only ask you to trust me when I say there's nothing you can do about the lashes. I fear I don't deserve your trust after this, though…"

"You do."

Aziraphale looked overwhelmed with that. Quiet tears fell from his eyes and Crowley enveloped him in the blanket of feathers more firmly. He held him, not paying attention to anything else. The murky light of pre-dawn filtering through the windows of the bookshop was a bit of a surprise. 

"Angel?" he asked quietly.

Aziraphale stirred and looked at him.

"There _is_ something I could do."

"But you are doing enough…"

"Ugh, bullshit. I can do more. Just tell me, how long would it take for the lashes to heal?"

"I would say… a month? Maybe two."

Crowley smiled a little, looking relieved. "Ah, good. Could be worse. A century or so…"

"What are you thinking about?" Aziraphale asked suspiciously. 

"My way of dealing with problems, of course. I could help you sleep through it. Maybe it would even heal sooner, in sleep."

"Oh. That's… tempting."

Crowley winked. "All done with the right arguments."

"Heh. Indeed, but… I'm still not too fond of the idea of sleeping, I fear."

"Why? Is it the fear of missing out on things you could do? Books to read? Missing out on the pain seems fine to me. Imagine you can just skip it and wake when it doesn't hurt."

"It's not just that. I don't know… I'm still uncomfortable with the thought."

"Ah," Crowley murmured. "I'm not going to force you. Just trying to understand here."

"Well… I'm not sure about the reason myself."

"Okay. Let's try to find out then." Crowley shifted his wings so that he could see Aziraphale's face better in the pale light. "Let's try a few simple questions. Try to tell me which idea feels better. Sleeping at night or sleeping during the day?"

Aziraphale though for a while. "Neither."

"Okay. Sleep with dreams or without?"

"Without. Definitely without."

"Right, let me rephrase. With _good_ dreams or without?"

"Still without."

"Noted. Next question… What do you find better? Or, less bad, maybe - falling asleep or being asleep?”

“That’s hard to tell. I think being asleep, but it depends.” 

“On the place maybe? What feels better, sleeping in the bookshop or somewhere else?"

That took longer to think about. "Somewhere else," Aziraphale said finally, with a slight surprise. 

"Interesting." Now Crowley took a moment to think.

"How about…" he asked then, "a place where the Archangels have been several times versus a place they don't know about?"

"Oh…" Aziraphale breathed out.

"Is that it? The reason why you don’t like to sleep?”

“I’m not sure, but… it feels right.”

“And how about… sleeping alone versus someone watching over you? Someone… you trust?"

Aziraphale looked Crowley in the eyes. “I can’t ask that,” he said quietly. “You would be bored. And alone…”

“Is that it, though? Would you be able to sleep like that?” 

“I… probably yes. But I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I wouldn’t be alone. You would be there. Asleep. Not hurting. That would be nice.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Tempter…” he muttered fondly. 

“Is that a yes?”

“I didn’t say that. You would still get bored soon, my dear boy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I’ve got my phone. Did you know you can play games on the phone? And troll people over the internet? Reply to Nigerian princes who want you to inherit their fortune?”

“I’m not going to pretend I understood any of that.” 

“I’m just saying I won’t be bored, angel. It will be fine. And I will actually feel much better knowing that you’re not hurting. So what do you say? Won’t you try it? It could be just a few hours at first. Then I wake you and you’ll tell me if you want to sleep more, and how long.”

“An excellent tempter,” Aziraphale smiled. “Very well. That sounds like something I would be willing to try.”

Crowley’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Great. Perfect. Would you like anything before we leave here? Something to eat? Do you want to take some books in case you feel like reading one when you wake? Should I take your cup or will you borrow mine? What about sleepwear?”

Aziraphale let those questions linger without answers for a while, enjoying the care behind each of them. 

* * *

When they got to Crowley’s flat an hour later, there was already a stash of books waiting on the table. Crowley sent them there from the bookshop with a snap of his fingers, just like the mug with angel wings and a few of Aziraphale's favourite decorations. 

They had a light meal provided by Crowley’s fridge full of never spoiling gourmet food, but the pain was distracting Aziraphale from enjoying it properly, so they moved to the bedroom. 

Aziraphale blinked in surprise when they entered it. “That’s not your bedroom…” 

“No,” Crowley smiled. “It’s yours.”

Instead of the grey walls and simple bed with black sheets that Aziraphale remembered from his last visit, there was a Victorian canopy bed with beige covers and many pillows in a light, welcoming room with a soft flowery carpet. A folded set of tartan pajamas was waiting on the bed. The walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a tea set on the table and two armchairs next to it. And in the hearth, a fire crackled merrily. 

“Did I go overboard with it?” Crowley asked in concern when Aziraphale just stared at the room for a minute. 

Aziraphale blinked. “Overboard? Well, maybe. A little. But… you did this for me? Oh dear, that’s so lovely. I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Ngk.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“I… I’ll let you change, okay? Call me when I can come back.” 

Crowley fled to the kitchen and leaned his head on the glass door of the cupboard. He _did_ go overboard, he thought. He appeared too needy, too desperate to please the angel. Not cool at all. But the way Aziraphale looked at him… He would trade his cool for that anytime, he thought, and started to make cocoa in the angel wings mug. 

It was ready when Aziraphale called him. He found the angel already dressed in pajamas, lying on the bed. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, but his hands were clutching it a bit nervously. 

Crowley sat at the edge of the bed. "Made you a cocoa," he murmured.

Aziraphale looked at him _like that_ again.

"Hng."

"Dear?"

"Just drink it."

"Shouldn't I brush my teeth afterward?"

"If you want. It's a convention, but humans do it because otherwise, they can get caries."

"I see." Aziraphale drank slowly, letting the warm sweetness soothe him. "I think I won't follow the convention," he said when the mug was empty. "I'm feeling rebellious today."

Crowley smiled and took the mug to put it on the night table. He looked indecisive for a moment, but then he sighed, told himself _to hell with cool image_ , and took out something he was hiding behind his back. 

“Um… some humans find it comforting, to hold these when they go to sleep,” he said sheepishly. 

It was a plush toy. It depicted a white dove in a magician top hat. 

Aziraphale smiled. 

“I got it a few years ago,” Crowley murmured, blushing. “It reminded me of you.”

Aziraphale took the toy and clutched it on his chest. “Thank you. It’s lovely… oh. It has your feather inside.”

“Of course. I’d like you to keep it. I’ve got another bird now, can’t keep both of them, they would fight.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Of course, we can’t have that.” He remained quiet then, running his fingers across the fuzzy cloth of the toy.

“Do you think you can try sleeping now?” Crowley asked after he recovered from embarrassment. “Do you have everything you need?”

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, I’d like to try. What… What do I do now?" he asked, clutching the blanket with his free hand.

"Just relax. I will guide you. You need to connect your consciousness to your corporation. Like this."

"Like this?"

"A bit more… Yes, that's it. Now, do you know what the pattern of electricity in your brain should look like in sleep? Should I show you?"

"No need, dear. I've watched humans fall asleep many times. I know what it should look like, I just always stop myself from doing it all the way. Like stepping over a cliff without wings out. I can't find the will for it."

Crowley nodded and watched him for a while. "Would you allow me to tempt you, angel?" he asked quietly.

"You always are, why wouldn't I?"

"I mean a real temptation. A demonic suggestion getting inside your head. I can tempt you towards sloth if you allow me."

"Oh," Aziraphale wiggled a little. "Well, I don't see why not. I've always wondered how that feels."

"Are you sure? Would you open your mind to a demon?"

"Not to any demon. To you."

Crowley smiled gently. "In that case, just relax." He shifted closer to Aziraphale with an almost serpent-like movement.

"Like this?"

"Not quite." Dark wings fanned out of Crowley's back and brushed Aziraphale's cheek. "I'm here. I'll watch over you. You can rest…" 

The wings covered him like an extra blanket and Aziraphale's breath evened.

"Yes, that's it… I will guard your sleep. There will be no worries, no pain. Just close your eyes and let me help you fall asleep."

Aziraphale breathed out slowly. "Crowley?"

"Yes, angel?"

"I'd like to tell you something before I fall asleep." 

"Oh?" 

Aziraphale glanced up at the demon, pressing his lips together like thinking of something funny and trying not to laugh.

"You can tell me anything, angel."

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Gabriel is an asshole."

"Hah!" Crowley made a gesture of victory. Then he looked at Aziraphale fondly. "And you are wonderful, angel."

Aziraphale blushed as if Crowley just gave him some kind of _that look_ as well. He probably did. He should remember that expression and use it more often. 

He knew how hard it was for Aziraphale to overcome himself and say it. He suddenly felt the need to do something equally courageous. And before he could change his mind, he acted on the impulse.

He leaned over the angel and tasted the echo of those words from his lips. 

Aziraphale froze in surprise. But then those lips parted and they were impossibly soft and heady, the taste making Crowley's head spin. He forgot everything and everyone, Heaven and Hell and Earth, nothing existed but the delightful sensation of the angel kissing him back, here and now. 

But a minute or an eternity later, he remembered that Aziraphale was in pain. He weaved a temptation into the kiss, a promise of safety and care, and freedom to rest. 

He found that he didn't have to push any suggestion into Aziraphale's mind, though. The thought was already there.

Aziraphale fell asleep with the taste of Crowley's kiss on his lips.

Crowley remained at his side, his wings covering the angel like a blanket of safety. He watched Aziraphale's peaceful face and his chest suddenly felt too small for the emotions that welled in it. He was angry - no, he was furious - at anyone who dared to hurt his angel in any way: with blows, with words, with silences. He was amazed by the strength it took to resist all of that hurt, a quiet strength that Aziraphale wouldn't even acknowledge to himself, but Crowley could see it clearly. And one day, he will convince the angel that it’s there. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of loving someone so wonderful, and being loved back. 

The emotions sought release from the too tight space, and found it in tears. With Aziraphale asleep, Crowley let them flow freely. And with each tear that fell he promised himself that he would always be there for Aziraphale, would always help him to deal with the hurts and scars that Heaven left on him. 

When the tears abated, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s hand and gently covered it with his own. It did not feel cold anymore.

Crowley leaned his head on the pillow next to Aziraphale’s soft curls. He kept watching over Aziraphale’s sleep, marveling at the trust and closeness. He did not feel lonely. And he never got bored. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a bit different take on my favourite topic of making our favourite duo suffer for the final result of Heaven/Hell leaving them alone that I already used in [Back to the Roots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797169/chapters/49428527), making these two stories mutually exclusive, I fear. If you enjoyed this one, you might also enjoy the take in Back to the Roots, but be warned that there is much more suffering there (but also more safety at the end). Thank you for reading!


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